The Right Shade of Blue
by TouchedBytheAngel
Summary: And at last, Sherlock thinks. He hadn't been LOOKING for the right shade; it had been there all along.


**Chapter One: **Wicked Game

_**I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you,**_

_**And I never dreamed, that I'd lose somebody like you. **_

_**And now I want to fall in love. **_

_**Fall in love, with you. **_

_**(-Wicked Game, James Vincent McMorrow)**_

**oOo**

**Notes: **THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH I DID IT YES. Okay, well, I _started _it. Thank you guys for everything; for sticking with me, and reading the gosh darn fic, and just agh. You are all the very best. *Blows kisses to all of you.*

**oOo**

Sherlock stood restlessly, fingers white with the strain of holding onto his one small bag. He'd been ready for eight hours already, but much of his time had been spent in thought. He was, for once, tired of thinking now and ready to move along. Ready to see John again.

"When will he be here?" He demanded for the dozenth time.

Mary shrugged, plumping up pillows with a smile. "Mr. Holmes said noon, but I wouldn't be surprised if John convinced him to show up a little earlier."

"Mm," Sherlock answered noncommittally. "Mycroft is punctual to the second. I doubt even John could convince him to be less than on time."

"Can't you wait _that _long?"

"Absolutely not. "Sherlock scowled. "And it isn't _just _John, you know. I'd love to see the Pirate and the apartment again."

"Well, I'm sure it's safe to say that John tops the list, hm?" She finished her work and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"In any circumstance," Sherlock agreed confidently.

Mary still somehow managed to force a sandwich into him before leaving. But she looked sympathetic when he declared that he couldn't finish it.

"Nerves, huh?" She inquired, picking up his half-empty plate.

"Feel sick," he grumbled.

"That'll happen," she nodded, patting his back.

"You seem happier than most that I'm leaving," he observed as he sipped his water.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I haven't been very kind to you."

"All the more reason for me to be happy that you're going," she teased.

Sherlock scoffed.

**oOo**

Mycroft arrived at 12:03, and to the end of time Sherlock would swear it was solely to irritate him.

His irritation faded, however, when he saw John getting out. His eager face was almost shining in the afternoon sunshine. He ran the last few steps before throwing his arms around Sherlock's neck, burying his face in the taller man's chest.

"Missed you," he mumbled, and Sherlock's chest contracted. He didn't answer, choosing instead to hold him more tightly, eyes squeezed closed, just to shield himself from the brightness of John. Of his very essence that might as well have been glowing.

_I love you, I love you, please don't leave me, not again, I can't bear it-_

John looked up at him, and he seemed to understand.

And Sherlock loved him.

"Can we go now?"

John nodded, turning towards an increasingly impatient Mycroft. "If you're ready, that is."

"I've been ready for five minutes, since we got here," the elder Holmes brother observed drily. But his gaze might have softened fractionally when he noticed how tightly Sherlock was gripping John's hand.

"We are _not _finished," Sherlock warned, as he climbed into the car beside John.

Mycroft gave him a thin smile. "Are we ever?"

John sighed. "Come on, Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded and leaned back, inspecting the upholstery.

"Where are we going?"

"My apartment. Mycroft already moved your stuff over. The Pirate's safe; in case you wondered," he added.

Sherlock smiled, heart aching at the sudden realization of how very _strange _it was that he was even seeing things like John Watson's mouth curving into that same sweet smile. It might have hardened a little around the edges; gotten sharper and more reserved, but he could still see it despite all that.

"Thank you," he said quietly, though he meant much more than that.

But John couldn't read his mind, just like he didn't need to. "Of course."

"So, where is this apartment?"

"We're not going back to town, Sherlock," he added.

"Oh."

"Mycroft wanted us to go somewhere new…where we wouldn't be recognized," John nodded quietly.

"What about Jim?"

He stiffened. "I haven't seen him since the trial."

"You were there?"

"Mycroft knew Jim would request your incarceration. It didn't really matter what facility-your brother had the evidence necessary to prove you innocent. But we had to convince Moriarty that you really had been taken out."

"Why two years?"

"Jim had people watch you. Even bought out a few of the staff. None of them had a problem making some extra cash by keeping an eye on you as long as they were at no personal risk. It took us all of two years to pick out who they, and all the others were, and track him down."

"And when you had pinpointed his location…"

"It was time to get you out."

Sherlock looked at him and smiled. "He underestimated you. As did I."

John smiled back, but the corners of his mouth trembled slightly. "I'm really glad you're here, Sherlock."

"You shouldn't be. I hurt you and could have killed you."

John's face was stern. "What you did, was done because you _had _to. No one blames you for anything, except yourself. So no more of that, alright? I will _not _lose you again."

His voice gentled at the last sentence, but Sherlock was not fooled. This was, yet again, proving to be a different John Watson than he had left supposedly dead in the hospital. It was not the same boy that he'd taken to a diner and kissed on his motorcycle; this was a man. With strong eyes, and a firm jawline.

This John looked ready for a fight.

"When will you go?"

John blinked. "Sorry?"

"When were you planning to volunteer?"

John's soft smile returned; the one that hadn't changed a bit in two years. "After I graduate."

"So, two years, then?"

John nodded.

"It's a good choice. You're already trained."

He grinned. "Well. I _did _have one very good motivation for getting fit."

"Oh?"

John moved over, sliding across the vinyl seats until he could pin up Sherlock's wrists playfully and grin down at him. "So I could be strong enough to do this."

Sherlock smirked and leaned up to let John reclaim his mouth.

**oOo**

The flat was not a fancy arrangement by any means, but it was clean, and had two bathrooms with no one else in residence.

"D'you like it?" John inquired.

Sherlock nodded, dropping his bag on the bed. "Did you pick it out?"

"Yeah, but your older brother had to approve it."

"Naturally."

John grinned. "He was exceedingly thorough."

"You might as well say OCD; he knows he has it," Sherlock sniffed.

"And you don't?" He raised an eyebrow.

"…That's different."

"Uhuh." John hid a smirk, beginning to unpack Sherlock's bag. "You don't have much."

"I didn't need much. I spent at least the first two months there expecting to die." He stared at his hands.

Warm, short fingers covered them. "I wish I could have helped."

Sherlock gave a short laugh. "There's, ah, there's a notebook in there. Did you get it out already?"

John let his hands go, picking up the smooth black leather. "Yeah, here it is." He offered it.

"Keep it. It was written to you, after all."

"You wrote me letters?" John inquired, flipping through the pages covered in Sherlock's narrow script. His voice was a little thick.

Sherlock nodded.

"They're beautiful…I can't wait to read them."

Sherlock smiled slightly. "I'm glad my messy scrawl suits your tastes."

John tucked it into his jacket and smiled up at him. "I love you."

Sherlock blinked hard. He _couldn't _cry now, dammit. "I love you, too…I never said it enough…I'm sorry, John, I'm just so sorry." His knees finally gave out, making him drop to the carpet.

"Hey." Blessedly warm arms surrounded him; beautifully soft lips caressing his forehead.

"I'm here now. I'm here, and I will never leave again, you hear me?" John rocked back and forth slowly. "I promise you."

The tears were coming freely at last; two years are a dam being broken down. "I should have told you, I should have _saved _you."

"Shhh…it's fine, baby, it's fine…" It's the first time John has ever called him that, and it soothes an ache in him he hadn't known was there.

John held him like that for a long time, until the shadows in his mind were blotted out, and driven away in the brightness of John's arms.

Sherlock fell asleep on the couch at some point; the rest of their things on the bed upstairs proving too cumbersome to bother with at the moment. Not that John was in any way complaining; it had been two years since he'd felt the warm weight of Sherlock resting in his arms, and he was by no means eager to let it go. He felt like the weight of two years had been lifted off; soothed by the restful pile of fragile skin and brilliant mind in his lap.

While his exhausted partner slept, he pulled out the notebook in his jacket and flipped it open. His fingers drifted over the long-dry ink, eyes reading, drinking, absorbing.

Time and again his eyes misted over, only to lift a hand to wipe away the threatening tears.

He read each letter twice, going more slowly the second time. One of his snuffles finally caused Sherlock's eyes to blink open, fixing on him. He stretched luxuriously, long limbs splayed over the couch.

"John." His voice was sleep-roughened and soft. "What is it?"

John held up the notebook, previously concealed beside his knee.

"Oh." He said awkwardly. "That."

John nodded shortly. "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?"

"For all of it. I knew you were in there the whole time, and I did nothing about it."

"You _couldn't _do anything about it, John. We've been over this." Sherlock sat up. "It was perfectly necessary. I hope you know I understand that."

"That doesn't make it any better."

Sherlock burrowed into him, closing his eyes and sighing like a sleepy child. "It will be."

John's hand carded through his hair softly. "Okay," he whispered.

Sherlock drifted off again listening to John's steady heartbeat.

**oOo**

**Notes: Oh my Gosh, guys, this was so **_**fluffy. **_**Urgh. But it had to be done, and I'm not ashamed to say I thoroughly enjoyed it. :D If you're wondering about how John personally survived, I'll explain that in the next chapter. But I wanted this one to be a little more fluffy and ****needy ****sweet.**

**My dad asked me what this story was about, incidentally, and you would not believe the struggle. "Uh…these two people…who share an apartment…and have jobs…and get to know each other…but it's really cool and stuff! And one guy falls down some stairs. Yeah." XD**


End file.
